


Who Needs A Date When You've Got A Heather?

by burglebezzlement



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Fake Dating, Heather's career choices, Podfic Available, Reunions, Treat, Valencia's wedding planning business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12292485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burglebezzlement/pseuds/burglebezzlement
Summary: When Heather offers to be Valencia’s fake date for her ten-year high school reunion, things between the two of them may start getting real.





	Who Needs A Date When You've Got A Heather?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capeofstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capeofstorm/gifts).



> I watched Crazy Ex-Girlfriend recently, and your prompt for Valencia/Heather was something I couldn’t resist. Happy Femslashex!
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, please assume Valencia and Josh had been together since 8th grade, and their 10th year high school reunion is happening now.

“No,” Valencia says. “I’m not going to my ten-year reunion by myself.”

It’s Tuesday night, and Valencia’s hanging out with Rebecca at Home Base, taking advantage of the Ladies’ Night Heather talked her boss into holding. Rebecca’s a few drinks ahead of Valencia, which is probably why she won’t let the reunion thing go. 

It’s been a shit day all around. Valencia lost a wedding to another planner down in Yorba Linda, and then she tripped over someone’s purse dog in her 3 PM yoga class. The Pomeranian, Croissanwich, is fine, but Valencia’s not sure if Croissanwich’s owner will ever forgive her. And then she came home to a 10-year reunion invite, addressed to herself and Josh. Because even after your ex checks out on the relationship, hooks up with his camp girlfriend, and then abandons her at the altar to go be a priest, you still get his mail.

“You have to go.” Rebecca emphasizes her words with a slosh of the rosé in her glass. “You know everyone from your class is probably getting married right now. It’s the perfect client-building opportunity for Weddings by Valencia.”

“I’m not going alone,” Valencia says. “I don’t want everyone clustering around me, pretending to be sympathetic about me being single. And all my guy friends are already going with someone. White Josh is bringing Darryl, Beans has some new girlfriend….”

“Even Hector?”

“Especially Hector.” Valencia wrinkles her nose. “He’s bringing his mom.”

“Yeah.” Heather pops up from behind the bar. “I feel like we don’t talk about that enough. What is up with those two?”

“I know what we can do!” Rebecca bounces up from her seat. “I’ll loan you Trent! He’s perfect!”

Heather makes a face. “You can’t just, like, loan someone your stalker.”

“No, think about it!” Rebecca starts ticking points off. “He went to Harvard. He’s super-tall. Taller than you. You could wear heels! And you know Trent is the perfect name for a fake boyfriend.”

“Again, stalker,” Heather says.

“You say stalker, I say invested,” Rebecca says. “Come on, V! He’ll totally do it if I let him sleep at the foot of my bed for like, a night. Two nights tops.”

“It’s fine.” Valencia knocks back the rest of her rosé and slides the glass across the bar. “I don’t need your stalker. I just won’t go.”

“But it’s the perfect opportunity to market your business!” Rebecca protests. “Come on!”

Valencia shakes her head. It’s not like Rebecca’s wrong, but… she’s not going alone. She’s just not.

The conversation shifts into Weddings by Valencia and online marketing. Heather drifts off to serve beers. Ladies’ Night isn’t exactly a success, and Valencia wonders if Heather suggested it to her boss so they could get half-price rosé. If so, props to Heather.

Rebecca leaves early. She says it’s because she promised Paula that she’d help Brendan with his college applications, but given that Valencia has met Brendan and therefore has an idea of his potential college options, and also that Paula’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and a black ribbed watch cap — in Southern California? Valencia figures they’re driving out to San Luis Obispo again to stalk Josh. Whatever. The X-days-since-our-last-shenanigan sign in Rebecca and Heather’s living room never gets into double digits anyway.

Valencia stays behind, watching Heather serve beers and nursing the last of her rosé. Thinking about how to get established as a wedding planner when everyone in West Covina knows that the one wedding she did plan imploded, spectacularly, when her ex decided to run off with Jesus instead of going through with it.

She looks up when Heather slides a drink in front of her.

“It’s, like, fruit juice and rum,” Heather says. “I know you get tired of rosé.”

“Thanks,” Valencia says. She tries the drink. It’s fruity and sweet — not the sort of thing she’d expect Heather to make. 

“There’s another option,” Heather says. “For your reunion.”

“I’m not taking some rando from Craigslist. And all my friends are already going with someone.”

Heather raises one eyebrow. “All your friends? You sure?”

“I’m not taking Rebecca.”

“Wow,” Heather says. “It’s like I’m chopped liver.”

It takes Valencia a moment to realize what Heather’s offering. She meets Heather’s eyes. “Really?”

“I just offered.” Heather shrugs. “Think about it, V.”

* * *

Valencia thinks about it.

Being close to Heather, kissing Heather — it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it. It’s a normal girl friends thing. She knows that. Just look at the way Rebecca kissed her.

But there’s something about Heather. She’s not sure why Heather keeps popping into her head while she’s curating her social media feeds, while she’s leading her 4 PM yoga class, while she’s brushing her teeth. It’s distracting. She’s got goals for her life now. Heather should stay in her Heather-shaped box in Valencia’s head.

* * *

Valencia slides onto a stool at Home Base a few days later. She’s wearing her peasant blouse, the low-cut one, and she knows these are her skinny jeans. She looks amazing. And she’s not sure why she cares.

“I’ll do it,” she says. “Yes. I’m saying yes to Weddings by Valencia.”

“Really?” Heather nods. “Right on.”

“Can I ask something, though?”

“Sure.” Heather pulls one of Home Base’s battered beer steins down and starts mixing a drink. 

“I thought you were against shenanigans. This seems like a shenanigan.”

“I’m against shenanigans for Rebecca.” Heather pushes the mug across the bar. “Rebecca needs to learn when shenanigans are and aren’t appropriate solutions to her problems. Going along with one of Rebecca’s shenanigans is like serving Greg a beer.”

“But me?” Valencia asks.

“You seem like you need a few more shenanigans in your life,” Heather says slowly. “Maybe.”

There’s this weird glowing feeling in Valencia’s chest. To distract herself, Valencia takes a sip of the drink. It’s fruity, like the one Heather served her last time, but with a fizz. It’s good.

Valencia meets Heather’s eyes and smiles.

* * *

The night of the reunion, Valencia picks Heather up. Apparently Heather has rules for fake dating, and this is one of them. You can’t take two cars, or someone might wonder why. 

“Hang on,” Heather says, as they approach the steps of the school. “Something’s wrong.”

“My dress?” Valencia looks down. She spent three hours, that afternoon, discarding the dress she’d bought for the occasion and then ransacking her closet and then saying yes to the first dress again, because she was right in the first place. Basic black is the way to go. She’s trying to look like a competent wedding professional with a long-term girlfriend. She doesn’t need to show that much cleavage for Heather.

“We don’t look enough like a couple,” Heather says. “Here.” 

She puts her arm around Valencia, and she’s close enough that Valencia can feel how soft her skin is, can smell Heather’s skin — she’s not sure if that’s perfume or body lotion, she’s never been close enough to smell Heather like this before, and when Heather turns her face, Valencia’s face is right there, right in front of her.

“You don’t look like you’re attracted to me,” Heather says. “Pretend I’m Josh or something.”

Valencia swallows. “I don’t even like Josh.”

“Like, a hot dude. Someone you’d want to bang.”

Valencia’s still caught back on Heather’s smell. She didn’t know — she’s hugged Heather, surely she’s smelled this before? She’s been in Heather and Rebecca’s bathroom, but it’s not like she knows which stuff is Rebecca’s and which is Heather’s, and they’re both terrible at keeping basic beauty routines. And maybe whatever this is isn’t something Heather keeps in the bathroom. Maybe Heather goes into her bedroom and starts undressing, starts rubbing moisturizer —

“Look at me like I’m a dude you like and some other girl is over there,” Heather says, but it doesn’t even sink in. Valencia bites her lower lip and tries to refocus, but Heather is right there.

Heather looks at her, and then shakes her head. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Valencia’s classmates look way more Instagram-ready than she remembers from high school, and Valencia feels intimidated. Only for a moment, though. She’s Valencia Perez. She used to rule these losers and geeks.

With Heather beside her, she re-introduces herself to her old classmates. It’s weird — she remembers feeling angry when she talked to them, most of them, and she’s not sure why. But with Heather there, it’s easy. 

Some of them recognize Heather as Miss Douche. Valencia feels weirdly happy when Nina Rodriguez and Shaiya Stoneham get excited about it. It’s not like Miss Douche is some huge celebrity or anything, but — it’s nice.

Mrs. Richards, Valencia’s 9th grade Social Studies teacher, starts giving Heather a rundown on her ladyparts symptoms — that’s how Mrs. Richards says it, ladyparts symptoms. It’s way more information than Valencia ever needed, but Heather’s nice about it. Not polite — nice, like she genuinely cares about Mrs. Richards’ vaginal discharge and just wants her to go talk to a doctor and get it sorted out.

“Everyone’s being different,” Valencia mutters, as she takes Heather’s arm to go talk to a new group. “It’s like they’re being nice to you, so they’re nice to me.”

“It’s not me,” Heather says, matter-of-factly. “It’s you.”

“What?” Valencia leans in. “How could it be me?”

Heather studies her, and then shrugs. “You’re different,” she says. “Like… softer. Like you’re not scared anymore.”

“I was never scared,” Valencia says. She steers Heather over to talk to Beth Ng, who’s showing off an enormous rock. Beth is glowing. Any significant time into the engagement, and her eyes would have the haunted look of someone whose relatives are having opinions about tablecloths at her. It’s obvious first-month-of-engagement look, and it means Beth’s a prime marketing opportunity for Weddings by Valencia.

* * *

Valencia hands out so many business cards, she’s going to have to reorder. She’s digging through her purse, looking through her backup stash, when Heather reappears at her elbow with a drink.

“I bribed the dude behind the bar to let me mix something,” she says. “He did not have a lot to work with.”

“Oh my god.” Valencia takes a sip. She didn’t realize how dehydrated she was — maybe it’s something about high school gym air. It’s delicious, fruity, light — “Is this even alcoholic?”

“That’s a negative,” Heather says. She sits down beside Valencia and cracks open a can of soda. “You’re on the clock, right?”

“Yeah,” Valencia says, even though it’s not true. She’s handed out a ton of cards, but she’s also having fun, seeing her classmates again with Heather. And she’s pretty sure it’s the _with Heather_ part of the equation that’s made this night so much fun, even though she can’t figure out why, or —

“Who’s that woman glaring at you?” Heather asks.

Valencia meets Heather’s eyes, and it’s like they’re talking without words — Heather makes little motions with her head and Valencia decodes them as _hang on_ and then _it’s okay to look_. She’s finally getting the hang of girl group body language.

She turns, once the tilt of Heather’s head says it’s okay to do so, and — “Denise Martinez.”

Heather takes a sip of her soda. “Who’s she?”

Valencia studies Denise. “She’s a snake.”

“Yeah?”

“Not really.” Valencia turns back to Heather and sighs. “We used to be friends, but then things got weird and she started, like, hating me or whatever.” She leans in toward Heather and lowers her voice. “She probably knows we’re not really together.”

“We can fix that,” Heather murmurs.

Valencia’s breath seems to be caught in her chest. “How?”

Heather brushes her hand through Valencia’s hair, pushing it back from her face. Valencia’s heart is beating, so loud she feels like Heather must be able to hear it, to see it on her face —

“Like this,” Heather says, and she leans in and kisses Valencia.

Softly, at first. Valencia has a moment of _ohmigod I’m kissing Heather what is this_ before she just gives in to it, to the feeling of Heather’s hand stroking down her arm, to Heather’s lips, brushing against her own and then deepening. Valencia’s mouth falls open without a conscious thought.

When Valencia imagined making out with Heather, it was more like Rebecca, a tongue jammed into her throat on the dance floor. But Heather’s taking her time. Her lips against Valencia’s lips, moving together, communicating without words. Heather’s hand brushes back to Valencia’s face, cups her cheek like Valencia is something precious. Something good.

Valencia kisses back. She has to.

The kiss just keeps going, and Valencia pushes into it, nipping at Heather’s lower lip with her own, the softness of Heather’s mouth between her teeth, and then pushing further into Heather’s space, her hand stroking Heather’s lower back and playing with the bottom of her shirt, and then —

“There.” Heather pulls back. “You think she bought it?”

“I — what?” Valencia can’t remember what they were talking about before.

“Denise Martinez.” Heather looks over Valencia’s shoulder. “She’s still glaring at you, but now she looks angrier.”

“Right.” Right. Heather only kissed her because they’re pretending. If that was Heather’s pretend-kissing —

“I’m sure she bought it.” Valencia jumps down from her stool and tries to clear her head. “We’ve still got cards to hand out!”

* * *

Valencia doesn’t get out of the car when she drops Heather off at her and Rebecca’s place. Rebecca’s car is gone, she could probably come inside and —

 _No_. Valencia stops herself. Heather was just doing a favor, for a friend. They’re friends. It’s normal for friends to make out sometimes.

Totally normal.

* * *

She’s never had girl friends before. Normally Heather is her reality check, but Heather’s the last person she can talk to about this. _I think I like you. Maybe. But maybe it’s just friends. Do girl friends normally want to stick their tongue down each other’s throats? Is that normal?_

And she can’t ask Rebecca, because (a) Rebecca has already had her tongue down Valencia’s throat and probably does think it’s normal, and (b) Rebecca will probably decide to “help” by locking the two of them in a closet.

And the idea of being locked in a closet with Heather — Valencia lets herself imagine it, Heather’s scent, the warmth of Heather’s body just next to her, Heather’s lips finding her own —

— She can’t ask Heather. But she’s pretty sure this isn’t normal. For girl friends.

So maybe they’re something else.

* * *

Valencia’s hands are shaking as she rings Heather and Rebecca’s doorbell.

It’s early evening. She’s been chasing around the whole Heather thing in her head for a week, trying to figure out what to do. Finding herself caught up in the memory of that kiss, because Valencia’s never been kissed like that before.

Josh was a perfectly adequate kisser, high marks for competence, but — there’s something different with Heather. And even if it makes her hands tremble, Valencia wants to find out why.

Rebecca’s car is in the driveway, but it’s Heather who answers the door.

“Hey.” Heather steps aside to let Valencia come in. “You can just come in, you know. Rebecca’s really bad about locking doors. She says it’s because she used to live in a doorman building, whatever that is.”

“Really?” Valencia looks around. “She’s not here.”

Heather shrugs. “She and Paula went out together. Probably more shenanigans. I can tell her you stopped by, though.”

“I’m not here for her.” Valencia swallows. “I’m here for you.”

“Yeah?” Heather’s face is unreadable.

“I… uh.” Valencia stands next to the couch, and then goes to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair before deciding that’s not right either, and going back to the couch. “I —”

“I had a really good time the other night.” Heather says it like it’s easy. “If you ever wanted to do that again, like, for a real date, I’d be up for that.”

“….What?”

“Or not.” Heather shrugs. “I like being your friend, too.”

“Wait, you like me? Like, _like_ me?” Valencia sits down on the couch, arms limp. “I had a whole speech planned. I had a whole speech, and you just —”

Heather sits down next to her, right next to her, and Valencia’s mind goes blank. “I’m still happy to listen to the speech,” Heather says, but Valencia’s already leaning over and pushing Heather’s hair back from her face, and then they’re kissing, again, Heather’s lips on Valencia’s, Heather’s hand running down her hair, brushing over her shoulder, fingers gently brushing under the hem of Valencia’s shirt.

It feels real. It feels _right_. Valencia kisses Heather, and lets everything else go.

* * *

When Rebecca gets back, they’re tangled up together in Heather’s bed, spent and happy and sweaty. Valencia’s curled around Heather, one of her hands on Heather’s stomach and the other on Heather’s pillow, behind her head. 

Valencia looks up at the sound of the front door closing. “You want to go see what Rebecca did?”

“Not really.” Heather stretches. “So, like… this is a thing?” She gestures to the two of them. 

“I want it to be a thing,” Valencia says, before she can stop herself. Because she does, even if figuring out a relationship with someone is scary, and new. Even if it’s not something she’s done as an adult. Not really. Not yet. 

Heather leans in and kisses Valencia, and then pulls back.

“It might be hard,” Heather says. “I’m not going to go along with everything you say. I’ll probably wear platforms when you want to be taller than me, and I’m not going to stop ordering Indian food, and being Miss Douche means a lot of strangers coming up to share their gynecological challenges while you’re trying to eat. Fair warning.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“It’s a lot of strangers,” Heather says. “Like, the people at your reunion were actually pretty well-maintained, gynecologically speaking.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of this.” Valencia pauses. “Wait, are you trying to talk me out of this? Are you trying to let me down easy?”

“No!” Heather puts an arm around Valencia’s waist. She snuggles her face into the hollow between Valencia’s chin and her chest, her breath warm on Valencia’s skin. “I think maybe I’m trying to let me down easy.”

“I’m in this,” Valencia says. She kisses the top of Heather’s head, and lets her cheek rest against Heather’s hair. “We’re in this together.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Who Needs A Date When You've Got A Heather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755600) by [sophinisba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba)




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